


Wave

by yeaka



Category: Logan's Run (1976)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sandmen have feelings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Not My Best Friend” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Logan’s Run or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He can tell even through the haze of water that he’s going to lose; he can practically _feel_ Logan at his side, just a hairsbreadth ahead. Sure enough, when Francis hits the tiled wall of the pool and dives up for proper air, Logan’s laughing triumphantly. He’s already turned himself around, elbows resting back against the ledge and bare chest fully exposed, dripping wet from their heated laps. Another Sandman passes them—touches the wall and turns right around to head back the other way—but Francis has eyes only for Logan. The clear water laps gently against his creamy skin, rosy nipples a little hard from the exertion. Logan’s face shines with his grin, blue eyes slightly crinkled on either end. Francis sinks back in the water and dramatically groans, “Not again.”

“You’re losing your touch, my friend,” Logan says, which pushes Francis to lunge back up and give Logan a playful shove—the last thing he needs. There’s nowhere for Logan to go with the ledge at his back, so all Francis manages to do is flatten them together. Logan leans away and tries to splash him, but the damage is done. Francis can feel himself responding. He can feel _everything_ of Logan, right through both pairs of black trunks plastered against their legs. 

He jerks away, though he knows not fast enough. Logan doesn’t seem to notice and just nods towards the whirlpool. “Maybe we should give you a break. Maybe some warmer water can wake you up.” The still swimming Sandman passes them again. Another group is walking for the pool, too wrapped up in their conversation to stop and say hi to those already there.

That’s probably for the best. Francis doesn’t need any witnesses to his shame. He fakes a smile and says, “Sure—if you’ll admit you’re the one that needs it.” Logan scoffs and pushes him, but does turn to climb out of the pool.

It gives Francis a close-up view of his perfect ass, shamelessly outlined in the practically-painted-on shorts. Logan always did have a great ass. It’s worse when he’s wet. Francis screams at himself in the safety of his own mind to _cut it out_ : Logan’s his _best friend_.

Logan’s also the only person he ever wants to come out of the circuit. That never happens, so he brings pretty greens over instead and hopes they’ll share close enough that their bodies will brush and he’ll at least be able to pretend.

He takes a minute to banish the thought before he climbs out to follow, keeping a quick pace before Logan can turn around and spot the all-too-obvious hard-on he can’t seem to dispel. He’s slipping with his self-control lately. Logan chips it away. At least he can always say he was remembering last night, and lie about exactly which participant his mind’s focused on.

He slips into the circular whirlpool a second after Logan, quickly letting the bubbling water hide everything. He settles in next to Logan on the rim, and Logan asks, “What’s wrong?” Francis jerks his head around and wishes Logan weren’t frowning. They so rarely do that around each other. 

He opens his mouth with no answer, and Logan checks over his shoulder at the rest of the pool—all off doing their own thing. He mutters too quiet to carry all the same, “Now that we’re a little more secluded...” He pauses, shifting conspicuously closer, so close that Francis can feel the warm press of Logan’s thigh against his. Logan leans over his shoulder to hiss into his ear, “Is this about that hard-on?”

Francis still hasn’t closed his mouth. Logan’s plush lips twist into a coy smile. Francis should’ve known better. He wants to growl at Logan for not saying something sooner, because Francis has been pining _forever_ , and he can’t be anymore obvious now than usual, and Logan’s really the one that’s just been getting so... _strange_... lately...

But then Logan’s bringing their mouths together, and whatever scolding Francis had dies in his throat. He gives into a little moan that ricochets over Logan’s tongue, and Logan presses them closer, closer, enough that the water’s squeezed out between them, and Logan’s tongue is tracing Francis’ teeth all the way back—

Logan tries to pull away, eyes twinkling and smile so devious, but Francis is already thinking _friendship be damned_ and surging forward.


End file.
